Chemotherapy

The first fluid they drain into you Has color of wine And they call it the red-devil The second glitters like glycerine And drips like tear In merciless silence The matron looks at you For a while As if she is gazing at the skyline Through a window glass And walks away Like a cloud in a dream Halfway to her station Across the pale marble floor She turns back and looks at me As if she wants to tell me I'm standing in a cemetery And she is the echo of eulogies You sleep like a weaned baby Your eyes move nervously Underneath closed eyelids Haunted by ghosts From the land of dead hairs I suppose so helplessly